


Meet The Adlers

by jpo2107



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Sam almost dies three times in one evening can you believe it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:41:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9849737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jpo2107/pseuds/jpo2107
Summary: Sam has a strong feeling that Bruce and Celia Adler are not as easily fooled as Rafe hoped.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My addition to the Fake Date AU that has grown into a monster and I couldn't be happier about it. 
> 
> Fake Dating AU is the brainchild of the following: [@ughrafe](http://www.ughrafe.tumblr.com) [@videogamesandbutts](http://www.videogamesandbutts.tumblr.com) [@thirtysixsavefiles](http://www.thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) and [@jilldrawblog](http://www.jilldrawblog.tumblr.com) (that's me!)
> 
> big thanks to @thirtysixsavefiles for editing and generally listening to me whine about this fic for like, a week.

Sam tugs on his tie again, feeling like the small strip of fabric is wrapping tighter around his neck as the evening wears on. And on. _And on_.

The party Rafe had dragged him to, under these uh, _unique_ circumstances, was beyond anything Sam had ever experienced. Everyone was dressed to the nines and he wouldn’t be surprised if some of the clothes worn here tonight cost more than Sam’s monthly rent. Never mind the _actual_ mansion that this was all happening in.

“Would you stop that?” Rafe’s irritated hiss pushes Sam out of his reverie and he glances down, quirking his lips upward into a smirk just to annoy him.

“Stop what?”

“Playing with your tie,” Rafe says, annoyance clearly written across his face. “ You're fidgeting. Stop it.”

Sam's brilliant response is cut short by the way Rafe's face suddenly pales. He follows Rafe's gaze over the crowd of people milling about in the reception area and, _bingo_. He sees them right away.

Rafe's father, Bruce Adler, is much taller than Sam was anticipating. He's broad in the shoulders, with similarly slicked back brown hair as his son, and deceptively youthful features for a man in his late fifties. Celia Adler is a slight wisp of a woman, barely coming up to her husband's shoulder. She's beautiful and it's clearly apparent that Rafe won the genetic lottery with these two as his parents.

Sam looks back over at Rafe. “You okay?”

Rafe swallows, fingers tightening on his wine glass, before answering tersely. “ I'm fine. Just remember the story we agreed on and don't fuck this up.”

“Yes, _sir._ ”

“ _Watch it,_ ” Rafe warns, before his expression changes to a more socially pleasant one and he turns to greet his parents.

“Father,” he says cordially, shaking his father’s hand. “Mother. I was just wondering when we’d bump into you.”

Rafe’s mother smiles at her son, and pats his cheek softly. “Well, this is a very _special_ occasion after all.”

Rafe snorts dismissively into his wine glass. “The Campbell’s daughter getting engaged is hardly noteworthy.”

“That’s not what I was referring to, sweetie,” she replies, her gaze turning towards Sam. “Are you going to introduce us to your...boyfriend?”

Both of Rafe’s parents are looking at him, and Sam suddenly feels like he’s already under the hot interrogation lights and he hasn’t even said anything yet.

Rafe clears his throat and smiles, albeit a touch painfully, as he brushes his hand against Sam’s shoulders. “This is Samuel Drake. I mentioned him the other night at dinner, remember?”

Bruce looks at Sam for a few minutes before responding. “Oh yes. How could we forget.”

Sam has a strong feeling that Bruce and Celia Adler are not as easily fooled as Rafe hoped.

Feeling Rafe’s elbow digging slightly into Sam’s side, he shakes himself out of his thoughts, and offers his hand to Bruce, who only stares at his hand for a few beats before grasping and shaking. Sam’s not entirely sure if if Bruce is trying to break his hand, but _ouch_.

Celia’s handshake is warmer and not nearly as painful, and at least she smiles at Sam instead of looking on disapprovingly like Rafe’s father is currently doing.

“Rafe, I need you to come with me,” Bruce says abruptly, handing his empty glass to a passing waiter.

Rafe flinches slightly at his father’s tone, and Sam’s been around enough disapproving fathers to know what that tone means.  Rafe shoots Sam a meaningful look as he departs with his father, which Sam can only interpret as “don’t fuck this up.” He gives Rafe one of his best smiles and waves him off, but Rafe doesn’t look entirely mollified.

Sam and Celia stand side by side, looking over the crowd of people milling about, and it’s not _exactly_ awkward, but Sam isn’t entirely sure how to start a conversation with her. He’s usually better at this, but he can’t help but feel a touch nervous. Which is silly, because this is a _job_.

“Rafe told me that you’re an...antiquarian. Is that correct, Samuel?” She asks, saving Sam from reaching for small talk.

Sam lets out a tiny sigh of relief; something he can talk about with some semblance of confidence. “Yeah, been doing that for most of my life, actually.”

“Do you work in a museum or university here in the city?”

“Uh, well...no. Not really. I’m mostly freelance these days.”

“Freelance?” Celia repeats, her perfectly sculpted eyebrows raising slightly. “I wasn’t aware that was something you could freelance in.”

 _Shit shit shit_. Sam scrambles for recovery. “I do a lot work for my brother and his wife, for the most part. They own D &F Fortunes, not sure if you’ve heard of them? There was a documentary on the History channel a couple months back...” Sam trails off and takes another sip of his wine, feeling beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Amazingly, Rafe’s mother lets out a delighted laugh. “Oh, of course! Bruce and I did manage to catch that on television, it was very well done. Your brother is charming, as is his wife--Elena’s her name, yes?” She pauses, looking at Sam thoughtfully. “I don’t remember seeing you in that documentary though.”

“I tend to stay...behind the scenes.” Sam tries a charming smile, trying to ignore the prickly feeling of sweat pooling underneath his collar .

“Hmmm.” She doesn’t look charmed.

"Rafe's never mentioned you until two days ago, isn't that funny?” Celia asks, taking a sip of her wine. “But then again, he’s always been a bit _secretive_.” She casts an almost disapproving glance at Sam. “Especially when it comes to his romantic...entanglements.”

There’s more sweat forming on his forehead, Sam can feel it. If Sam thought he could charm Rafe’s mother no problem, he was so wrong.

There’s a long stretch of silence before Celia speaks again.

“Do you travel much for your work, Samuel?”

“A bit,” he replies. “More when I was younger, you know? I’m trying to stay, uh, more local these days now that I’ve got something to stay for.” He hopes she catches his implied meaning but the only response he gets is another small lift of her eyebrows.

Celia takes another dainty sip of wine. “I've done a little traveling myself; for work mostly, mind you. The business relationships you make can potentially last a lifetime, don’t you agree?”

Sam nods, but he feels a little lightheaded, like there are millions of layers behind every word coming out of Rafe's mother's mouth and it's in a language he's _really_ not fluent in.

“In my line of work, it always helps to have friends,” she continues, her gaze level and steady as she stares at Sam. “You never know when you might need help…removing a problem from an _unlikely_ situation.” She smiles, showing the slightest bit of teeth and Sam gulps.

He's rescued from having to even think of a response (and honestly, what kind of response could he _give_?) when Rafe and his father return. Celia rubs her hand affectionately on her husband's shoulder and he smiles down at her in response and it would be a touching scene if Sam weren't three seconds from passing out.

“It’s been _lovely_ meeting you, Samuel.” Celia says, “Please make sure to stop by and say your goodbyes before you and Rafe leave, hm?” Without waiting for an answer, she and Bruce moves away into the crowd and Sam lets out a shaky breath he’’s been holding.

“I need a smoke.” Sam says to Rafe as soon as his parents are out of earshot.

Rafe rolls his eyes but gestures towards the back of the reception hall where the balconies are.

He narrows his eyes at Sam. “Are you okay? You’re sweating.”

“Am I?” Sam asks, pretending that he’s not aware that he’s almost completely drenched in sweat from one conversation with Rafe’s mother. “Must be the lights in here, too bright or something.”

Rafe doesn’t look like he entirely believes him, but he lets it slide. “Don’t take too long. And _don’t_ try to climb off the balcony and escape.”

So much for that idea, Sam thinks to himself as he heads towards the balcony.

~

 

Sam’s feeling better now that he has nicotine running through him again. Doesn’t feel so off-kilter, just leaning against the balcony railing, catching his bearings. He blows tiny smoke rings into the night air, bracing himself for round two.

“Mr. Drake?”

And here it is. Sam’s back stiffens slightly before he turns towards the voice behind him. He had been hoping for a little more time before Rafe’s father tracked him down.

“You can call me Sam, sir.”

“I’ll stick with Mr. Drake, if you don’t mind.” Bruce Adler’s voice is affable enough, but his eyes stop Sam cold. There’s no trace of warmth or welcome that Sam can see. Sam doesn’t know what to say exactly, so he turns his attention back to his cigarette and holds out hope that God will strike him dead at that exact moment.

No such luck. “Should I be concerned?” Bruce asks as he looks over the balcony ledge, taking in the opulent garden beneath them. He doesn't hide his distaste from the smoke curling towards him from Sam's cigarette, and Sam ruefully thinks to himself, _like father like son, I guess_.

“I, uh, don't quite catch your meaning, sir,” Sam replies, his voice steadier than he actually feels at the moment.

Bruce Adler is an imposing man, and when he finally turns to face Sam square, Sam is suddenly very aware that there's no one else around, only the faint sound of crickets.

“I mean, should I be concerned about your intentions towards my son?” Bruce clarifies. “You'll forgive my bluntness, I hope, but you have to understand that my wife and I never even knew you existed until two days ago. Imagine our surprise to find out that you have been seeing our son, in _one_ _capacity or another_ , right under our noses.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “For _months_ , according to Rafe.”

“Well---” Sam fumbles slightly. He and Rafe hadn’t discussed in detail the possibility of his father cornering him and interrogating him and suddenly Sam feels like that was a miscalculation. Rafe had been under the impression that his father wouldn’t have any interest in talking to Sam at all. Seems like Rafe was _wrong_ and now Sam has to deal with this situation the best he can.

“Are you sleeping with my son?” Bruce cuts off Sam’s train of thought and if the balcony railing weren’t supporting Sam’s weight he’s pretty sure he’d have toppled over it right about now.

“Uh, no. No, that’s is something that hasn’t happened.” Sam replies, trying to keep his eyes level with Bruce’s, but his are undecipherable and Sam isn’t sure whether he’s dodged a bullet or if there’s still one with his name on it.

“I don't have any delusions about the sort of things Rafe gets up to in his free time. He's not as subtle as he thinks he is.” Bruce takes the cigarette from Sam's unresisting fingers and drops it to the ground, grinding it firmly into the balcony floor with the toe of his shoe.

“That's a filthy habit, Mr. Drake,” he says lightly.His eyes are hard and cold. “ I suggest you try to snuff it out.”

Sam's done some risky things in his time but he's never felt so close to death as he does at this moment. He’s desperately trying to remember the patron saint of lost causes when he hears a throat clearing from somewhere to his left. Witnesses, he needs witnesses, or he's not sure he's going to survive the next few minutes.

Sam's never been so overjoyed to see a middle-manager before - and that's clearly what this man is, glasses on, papers in hand - but he's pretty sure this guy just saved his life.

“Mr. Adler, sir?”

Bruce’s face immediately clears of any malicious intent and he smiles as he turns towards the manager, who looks like he wants to back out of whatever situation he walked into.

“Yes, Gregory?” Bruce says smoothly. “What is it?”

“The, uh, contracts from the Miller estate were just faxed over. You requested that I bring them to you when we received them? I can, um, come back later though.” The unspoken implication being after Bruce is finished disposing of Sam’s body.

Bruce takes one last look at Sam before replying, “No, that won’t be necessary, Gregory. I’ll come with you.”

Sam waits until Bruce Adler’s back has disappeared back inside the mansion before halfway collapsing onto the balcony railing in relief. _Jesus_.

~

Sam’s feeling a little wrung out after that impromptu (or was it? Sam isn’t sure) tête-à-tête with Rafe’s father, and after taking some deep breaths to steady himself, he makes his way to the bar for a much needed drink. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone waving to him. Sam doesn't recognize her at first, but when he gets closer to the bar it comes to him Rafe's best friend, the only person in his immediate circle he seems to speak fondly of. Rafe had introduced them earlier in the evening, and Sam had wondered why Rafe just hadn’t asked Nadine to pull this stunt with him instead of Sam.

He wonders what Rafe’s told her.

Nadine has two drinks in her hands, and wordlessly passes one of them to Sam when he sidles up to her at the bar.

“Thanks,” he says, accepting the drink gratefully.

“Figured you’d need that after Rafe’s parents,” she says with a rueful smile.

Sam shakes his head in disbelief. “No kidding. I thought I’d be safe with his mom, but, _Jesus_. She’s a killer.”

“She’s a lawyer.”

Sam blinks before knocking his drink down his throat. “Things make so much sense all of a sudden.”

Nadine laughs, leaning against the bar. “How’d you fare with Bruce?”

“I’m pretty sure he wants me dead.” Sam winces. “He’s probably on the phone with a hitman right now.”

“Well, that’s his _precious_ son you have in your clutches,” Nadine says lightly, but there’s an edge to her words.

Sam closes his eyes resignedly. He should have seen this coming.

“Not you too,” Sam pleads, glancing around the room for Rafe, for an exit, for _anything_ to escape what’s coming next.

Nadine shrugs. “Sorry.” She doesn’t actually sound apologetic to Sam’ ears.

“Listen, Sam. I don’t know you at all, but let me make something perfectly clear.” Nadine leans forward and even though she’s a foot shorter than Sam, he doesn’t feel any less intimidated. “Rafe’s been jerked around before, and it never ended well for them. So, keep that in mind, will you?” She finishes her drink, placing her glass on the bar before patting Sam on the arm. Sam definitely feels a painful squeeze on his bicep. This is fine, completely fine.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of the party, Sam. If you’re looking for Rafe, I think I saw him downstairs with the Cabots twins; no doubt they’re trying to squeeze every last piece of information about you out of him.”

“I’m not really that interesting,” Sam protests, trying to resist the urge to rub his arm.

Nadine shrugs as she turns to leave. “These people here have very small, petty lives. Gossip is what they live for. You better get used to that.”

~

After tonight, Sam just wants to flop onto his bed at the hotel and never wake up again, but he doesn’t even get his shirt off before there’s a knock on the adjoining door between his and Rafe’s room.

Sighing, Sam opens the door.

“What?” Sam asks, because he’s exhausted from tonight and honestly, looking at Rafe right now just reminds him about how many people want to have him killed if he missteps.

Rafe looks at Sam like he’s a couple hundred I.Q points below him and says, “We should debrief about how tonight went.”

Sam groans. “Do we have to do this now?”

“Yes.” Rafe pauses before he sits at the edge of Sam’s bed. “How did you think it went?”

“Spectacularly.” Sam can’t stop the sarcasm bleeding into his voice.

“Don’t be glib.” Rafe sighs, pushing stray strands of hair off his forehead. “My mother seemed to like you. Couldn’t get a read on my father, but he rarely likes anyone I spend my time with. Nadine’s probably the one exception.”

An angry bubble of laughter escapes from Sam’s mouth before he can stop it and Rafe looks up at him curiously.

“No offense Rafe, but I’m pretty sure there are three separate hits out on my life after tonight.”

“You’re being dramatic, Sam.” Rafe replies as he rolls up the sleeves of his dress shirt. Sam finds himself staring at Rafe’s exposed forearms and shakes himself, reaching for his smokes.

“Dramatic?” Sam repeats, angrily lighting a cigarette. “Your mother practically told me that she had friends who could get rid of _problems_ .” He points to himself. “The implication being that _I’m_ a problem.”

Rafe laughs dismissively. “I’m sure you misunderstood her.”

“I’m pretty sure I didn’t!”

Rafe raises his hands placatingly, though it’s clear in the lines of his face that he’s humoring Sam. “I’m positive my mother doesn’t have hitmen on speed dial, but sure.”

“Your dad might. Hell, he’ll probably do the job himself.”

“Oh come on, my father---”

“Your _father_ took my cigarette from my hand and crushed it under his shoe! You can’t tell me that’s not a metaphor for something!” Sam takes an angry drag off his cigarette, waiting for Rafe to dismiss that.

But for once, Rafe doesn’t seem to have a ready comeback.. Instead he’s looking at Sam like he’s never seen him before, confusion and bemusement pulling at his features.

“He did that?” Rafe asks softly.

“He looked like he wanted to do a lot more before we were mercifully interrupted by someone who needed your father right away.” Sam makes the sign of the cross over his chest. “Otherwise I probably wouldn’t be standing here.”

Rafe doesn’t say anything for a few minutes and Sam smokes in silence, his anger dying down a little as he watches Rafe out of the corner of his eye. His gaze is somewhere distant, past the walls of the room. It’s almost like Sam’s not even here anymore.

“Don’t even get me started on your friend Nadine,” Sam says off-handedly, trying to draw Rafe back into the conversation. Rafe looks up at Sam at the mention of his friend’s name, seemingly drawn out of his reverie.

“Let me guess, she threatened your life too?” Rafe asks, leaning back on his elbows, unbuttoned and relaxed and more distracting than he has any right to be.

“Well, she was more straightforward than your parents, that's for sure.” Sam grinds out the remains of his cigarette in the ashtray beside the window. “Hey, why didn't you just ask Nadine to do this, whatever this is, with you? You just said your dad likes her.”

Rafe stares at Sam like he's grown two heads.

“What?” Sam asks defensively.

“No one would _ever_ believe me and Nadine are a couple, we've been friends for way too long. Besides, she has a girlfriend.” Rafe stretches out onto Sam's bed, his hands behind his head. “I'm pretty sure everyone at that banquet lost the country club bet of Rafe Adler Dying Alone. My parents included.”

“Well, there’s still time for that,” Sam teases and gets a pillow thrown at him in response

“Anyways,” Rafe says, slowly levering himself up off of the bed. “My mother sent me a text, she’s inviting us to the Vineyard for a weekend at the end of the month. Are you okay with having to keep up appearances until then?”

The way Rafe says that seems so indifferent, but Sam doesn’t miss how Rafe’s eyes don’t quite meet his when he speaks.

“I don’t know if I can survive a full weekend of veiled death threats, Rafe.” Sam says, lighting another cigarette.

“Relax, my father won’t be there.” Rafe rolls his eyes. “You’ll be safe, I promise.”

Sam takes a thoughtful drag, letting the smoke curl in his lungs, but he’s surprised at how easy it is to say, “Yeah, sure. Why not? I’ve got nothing planned.” Rafe’s shoulders relax minutely, and Sam wonders at the tension there.

“Good. Great.” Rafe seems like he might say more, but instead he leaves Sam’s room without any further discussion, quietly shutting the door behind him. Sam continues to smoke in his room, looking out the window, wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into this time.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
